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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28609620">The Stars Hold No Part in This</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/imissthembutitwasntadisaster/pseuds/imissthembutitwasntadisaster'>imissthembutitwasntadisaster</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Author tries to write a funny character and fails because she herself is not often witty, Debates about Duty, Debates about Love, F/M, Regency, Regency Romance, accidental anachonisms, look it's a romcom based on Shakespeare characters set in the 1810s, people being idiots, period drama, romcom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:48:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,289</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28609620</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/imissthembutitwasntadisaster/pseuds/imissthembutitwasntadisaster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sharp family has moved to Lincolnshire to aid the convalescence of their eldest son, James.  While there, Beatrice, the eldest daughter, makes the aquaintance of a local young man, Romeo Barrett.  He thinks Love is the only thing in the world, she doesn't believe in it, and yet she finds herself roped into helping him win the woman he swears he would Die For.  Will Beatrice come to accept love can exist?  Will Romeo admit that it's not all about Sincere yet Dramatic Gestures?  Will the right people even end up together?<br/>One thing's certain: the course of true love never did run smooth</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Beatrice Sharp/Romeo Barrett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. There Was a Star Danced, and Under That Was I Born</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>First chapter! I'm very excited about this, and I promise I will finish it, even if it takes forever.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The house at Balham was full of commotion that spring morning, and all the members of Society who mattered already knew the reason.  The Sharps were leaving London, in the middle of the Season no less, and neither the gaiety of the period nor any kind of delicacy could exhaust the tongues of the town gossips.  The second son James had returned wounded and ailing from his time as a navy Lieutenant, and the doctor had told them that they must leave London immediately.  So a house had been found, the coaches arranged, and the luggage was in the process of being packed.  Each room was filled with bustling activity, and Beatrice could be found at the centre of it all.  </p><p>Let us examine our heroine for a moment as she dashes as quickly as is propitious from drawing room to bedroom to kitchen, advising, berating, and ferrying messages.  A middling child in all but order of birth, Beatrice Sharp inherited her efficiency from her mother and her narrow-eyed suspicion from her father.  What she lacked in trust, however, she made up in care, and what she lacked in talent she made up in work and wit.  London tolerated her for her humour and her high-walled words, those few who knew her loved her for the warmth in her laughter and her good intentions.  She had helped her father find the house in Lincolnshire, and now she was assisting her mother in any way she could – they hoped to leave the next morning, so as to allow James’s convalescence to begin as soon as possible.  </p><p>A cry of “Beatrice!” from the far reaches of the building pulled her away from ensuring that Abigail was packing the autumn clothes as well as the summer dresses (Abigail had been with the family for fifteen years, knew exactly what to pack, and merely shook her head to herself at these instructions, knowing that the young lady meant well).  She hurried up to the top floor to find Peter, the eldest of the family, gazing out the window at the street below.  He turned as she entered the room.</p><p>“Ah, Bea, there you are.  Tell me, this house you found for us, what kind of company we will have there?  Which families live in the area?  Are they respectable?  Are they well-liked?”</p><p>It was often said that Peter was more suited to a parsonage than to take over his father’s affairs, but the young man had set his mind to his duty and performed it admirably.  He was deeply concerned at the move, Beatrice knew, although he had no reason to be.  All had been arranged, he himself had held a crucial role in the arrangement.  </p><p>“I have heard it is in a most reputable area, although I know little of our neighbours,” she paused, searching her mind for any news to alleviate her brother’s anxiety.  “I have been told of one family, the Barretts.  They seem the best of people.  If we can befriend them we will soon become quite comfortable.  If we cannot, we shall soon be cast out by all respectable society and live the rest of our days in a hovel in the woods,” she finished with a laugh, watching Peter closely.  He seemed to grow calmer at her words, although he still stood stiffly.  His personal belongings were strewn across every surface with very little packed away, and she assumed that he had rather been tramping about the room fretting than preparing to leave.  She went to him and took his hands in hers.  </p><p>“Peter.  The house will be well-situated and extraordinarily comfortable.  We will spend some months with good company and fine entertainment.  James will recover quickly, and nothing will deprive any of us of our happiness,” she said, looking up at him.  Her brother finally relaxed at her words, nodding slowly.   </p><p>“I pray you are right, Beatrice, James is not…”</p><p>“James <i>will</i> be well,” exclaimed Beatrice warmly.  That James could not be a part of her life was unthinkable.  Peter had always been in some ways aloof, aware of his responsibilities as the eldest, and Harriet had always been too young to be a friend.  James had played Touch with her up and down the house when they were little, terrorizing the adults.  When they had grown past that they sat at Piquet and Draughts for hours in the drawing room or acted plays together, shouting out the battle scenes until they were sternly subdued.  He was the oldest friend she had, the closest thing to a confidant, and (at times mortifyingly) her most certain partner at any ball.  She could not lose him, she could not bear to lose him.  All of this weighed heavily on her tongue but she knew not how to say it, and any stumbling words on the matter she knew would merely serve to upset Peter more.  Instead, she repeated herself with greater force: “James will be <i>well</i>.” </p><p>Peter nodded again with more certainty and took a step back, releasing her hands.  “I must finish here,” he said, looking around with a wry despair.  “You should ensure Harriet is doing something more than debating which hats to bring.”  His sister laughed abruptly at that.  Harriet was barely seventeen and had recently fallen into an unreasonable obsession with hats.  It was perfectly likely that for the last half-hour she had been seated on her floor mourning those articles she must leave behind.  Beatrice turned to leave and was almost out the door when her brother spoke again.  </p><p>“Are there perhaps any sons of the Barrett family?” he asked, a peculiar tone to his voice.  Beatrice glanced behind her to see the expression on his face that only siblings choose to wear when speaking of love to one another. </p><p>“What does it matter if there are?  Am I to ensnare one of them with my many charms?  Sing a Scottish song perhaps, dance a jig, and hope they are not all driven away in fright by the sight and sound of it?”</p><p>“I only mean to say, fair Beatrice, that while not a single man of London has caught your eye, perhaps a man of Lincolnshire shall.  Perhaps you <i>will</i> marry for love.” </p><p>She sighed with weary exasperation and stepped firmly out the door, already considering the remaining duties of the afternoon.  She had no time for this teasing today.        </p><p>“If you gambled on the chances of me marrying for love, dear brother, you would lose.  I simply do not believe such arrangements exist.  No man shall ever win my heart.  Of that, I am <i>quite</i> certain.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Is Love a Tender Thing? It is too Rough</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Beatrice remained quite certain that her heart could never be captured after seven days had passed in the country and not one of their neighbours had called on them.  Mrs Sharp had spent the week ensuring that everything in the house was perfectly organised, and Mr Sharp had spent <em>his</em> time criticising the people who must live near them that would not even try to form an acquaintance with newcomers.  Beatrice escaped to James’ bedside whenever such a topic of conversation arose, choosing as she did to think as little as she could on the possibility that all would not be well.       </p><p>The next week they had more luck, for their neighbours the Pattersons called upon them.  Mr and Mrs Patterson were jovial and warm, but rather unfortunately believed themselves to be quite wise.  Peter became steadily more uncomfortable as they informed him with great warmth of the various essentials for running a household, none of which he, nor indeed anyone else, had ever seen as essentials.  They had a young daughter, Jane, a pleasant enough girl, though sadly lacking in original ideas, who soon became acquainted with Harriet; after but an hour they declared that they were the <em>very best</em> of friends and <em>always</em> would be.  At the end of the afternoon Mr Patterson insisted that the Sharps dine with them the next week.  Two other families would be there, he informed them, the Elliots and the Lakes, both, he assured Mrs Barrett, delightful people, truly delightful.  He further invited them all a ball he was to hold that coming Saturday, and the day was declared separately by both families to be a resounding success. </p><p>The ball had to be prepared for, of course.  Harriet demanded a new hairpiece, and when their mother refused, thinking always of their finances, she spent nearly an hour draped over Beatrice’s bed listing all the decorations she owned and their irredeemable flaws until her sister chased her out and pushed a trunk against the door.  By the evening itself, however, she was delighted by her looks and declared that she would be quite the best-dressed lady at the ball, despite <em>dear</em> Jane, of course.  Beatrice said nothing, but privately mourned her favourite pair of gloves which had begun wearing through.  Peter seemed almost more concerned about their appearances than they were, Beatrice was sure that if it were acceptable he would have written out a list of notable people to converse with and told them to hide it in their reticules.  James was still weak, but assured Harriet she looked lovely, and told Beatrice to hurry and find a wealthy husband so she wouldn’t die an old maid.  He then informed her he was ill, and as such any cruel reply on her part could cause such a shock to him that he would sink further into his sickness and die and it would all be her fault.  She left with alacrity after shooting him a withering look. </p><p>The Pattersons had decorated their house with enthusiasm, if not delicacy, and as they brought a warmth with them everywhere they went the jollity of the evening was not in doubt.  The music was lively, the lights extravagant, and the people immensely ready to dance.  Harriet pounced upon Jane as soon as she entered the room and the two of them dashed off to whisper together in some corner, while Peter made his way quietly yet with purpose to a man whom Beatrice vaguely recognized from the Pattersons’ description as a Lord Mayberry.  Mrs Patterson and Mrs Sharp fell deep into a conversation on the difficulty of finding a good servant nowadays, which, rather unfortunately, left Beatrice alone at the side of the room.  She knew no one here, she had no one to introduce her to anyone, there were far more women than men at the assembly, and her usual stalwart partner was bedridden and thus absent.  The evening, which had at first held such promise of enjoyment, soon began to feel bleak and disappointing, and Beatrice knew well that one could only fidget with one’s gloves for so long before it became obvious. </p><p>She was hopelessly wondering if perhaps she could persuade Peter to leave the conversation in which he had become immersed, which seemed to be about the situation of the Americas, when Mr Patterson bounced up to her, leading a tall and rather bemused-looking young man.  </p><p>“Ah, Miss Sharp, there you are.  This is Romeo Barrett, a fine fellow, a fine fellow indeed, lovely family, but quite refuses to dance.  You seem to have little interest in the business yourself, so I expect you to get along splendidly!”  He slapped Mr Barrett on the shoulder with delight and waddled away before Beatrice, stunned by the utter misunderstanding of her intentions, could serve to free him of his misconception or indeed, say a word.  Her shock must have shown upon her face, as Mr Barrett, turning to her, broke out into laughter.  His laugh was youthful and handsome, much like his face, and it seemed to almost tumble out of him.  Beatrice decided she quite enjoyed hearing it. </p><p>“I take it then, you do intend to dance?” he asked.  His words would have been almost polite, if not for the tears of mirth left in in his eyes.</p><p>“Indeed I do, if I could find a partner, but if young men are now giving up the practice then there seems no hope left for me.”</p><p>“I do hope they are not, for your sake as well as mine.”</p><p>“Ah, then you hope to differentiate yourself from the rabble?  To prove yourself to be of better stock by refusing to participate in entertainment?  Or do you merely dislike fun?” Beatrice asked, her voice and eyes merry.  Mr Barrett smiled and she found herself thinking that his smile was delightful even without his laughter. </p><p>“No indeed, I enjoy nothing so much as dancing.  You see, I am in <em>love.”  </em>He pronounced this last word with a sigh and a wistful gaze into the distance.  Beatrice attempted to hide her laughter and failed, such a deceit not being in her nature.  An offended expression overtook Mr Barrett’s face. </p><p>“You think me a fool.”</p><p>“Indeed sir, I believe anyone who claims to be in such a state is a fool.  But I do not think you a greater one than most.”</p><p>“You do not believe in love?”</p><p>“I believe it to be a sweet delusion, nothing more.  I should not blame yourself overmuch for being ensnared, however, it is a common affliction I have been told.”</p><p>“No delusion and nothing common in such a love as this.”  He sighed again, gazing across the room.  Beatrice followed his gaze to a young woman of decided beauty who, as they watched, accepted another man’s hand. </p><p>“<em>She</em> does not seem to mind dancing,” remarked Beatrice with a slight bitterness to her tone.  To be rejected as a partner so severely is something to which no young woman can react with complete grace. </p><p>“No, for she does not love me.  How could she, when she is not permitted to know me?  For her father has forbidden the match, and I must prove my character to him so that I might court her.  I refuse every other partner to show my constancy; I shall only dance with sweet, sweet Rosamund!”</p><p>“Perhaps your character would equally be proven were you to show politeness to the many women here without partners, and alleviate some of their griefs,” Beatrice said, raising her eyebrow in a most unladylike fashion as Mr Barrett swung to face her with a soulful look in his eyes that she found quite irritating.  “Besides, surely a faster way to reconcile with her father would be to remedy whatever particular fault has led to his dislike.”</p><p>“Therein lies the <em>tragedy, </em>Miss Sharp, there <em>is</em> no particular fault.  My family and his have been rivals for generations, he thinks poorly of me for no further reason.  The Barretts and the Lakes!  Such foolish pettiness is to separate me from my one true love!”  He appeared almost overcome with emotion, and Beatrice spoke hastily in an attempt to calm him. </p><p>“Oh, the Lakes?  We are to dine in their company this coming Wednesday.”</p><p>Her words did not have the intended effect.  Mr Barrett almost grasped Beatrice’s hands in desperation before realising the impropriety of his action. </p><p>“Speak to her of me, I beg you.  If her father has spoken ill of me to her, you must free her from that poor impression.  You cannot know the happiness it would bring me.”</p><p>Beatrice possessed unfortunately a thread of manipulation which no amount of education had unravelled from her being, and this arose as she considered her position.  She had little doubt that her interference would help no one, and she did not particularly care to insert herself between two feuding houses.  The Barretts, however, were well-respected, and to befriend them would aid her family greatly in settling in.  To be pitied in London was bad enough, she had no wish for their situation to be met with disdain here.  She sighed. </p><p>“Very well, I shall speak to her.  There are, however, conditions” </p><p>Mr Barrett seemed so filled with joy he could hardly speak. </p><p>“Anything, anything at all!”</p><p>“Firstly, that you introduce your mother to mine and ensure that they become acquaintances.  Secondly…”  A dance would be agreeable, she thought, even one dance would make the evening more tolerable.  But before she had the chance to speak, she caught sight of Harriet, who was very much in a similar situation to the one Beatrice had found herself in before the arrival of Mr Barrett.  Jane had apparently found a partner, and poor Hattie was looking quite small and dejected against the wall.  “Secondly, you ask my sister – you see her there – for a dance.” </p><p>Mr Barrett looked quite scandalised.  “Miss Sharp, I have already explained—”</p><p>“My sister is far too young for your actions to be seen as anything more than rescuing a young girl from an evening of humiliation.  It will be quite clear you are acting only out of the goodness of your heart.”  He still seemed unsure, so she added quickly “You did promise anything.” </p><p>Mr Barrett studied Harriet, then, acquiescing to her argument, turned and bowed to Beatrice.   </p><p>“If that is your wish,” he said, before making his way across the room.  Beatrice watched as he offered his hand to her sister, and could not keep from smiling at how Hattie’s face lit up.  Mr Barrett danced well, she noted, and his youthful mirth kept Harriet laughing throughout the whole set.  When they parted, she appeared far more at ease than before and soon found other partners.  Most notable, she danced three times with the same gentleman, (a Mr Lewis, it was revealed later) whom Beatrice uncharitably thought to look quite like a stoat.     </p><p>Beatrice herself received no offers for the rest of the evening, but at least, she consoled herself, the ball was a success for her family.  Peter, upon discovering that Mrs Barrett had been introduced to their mother and a friendship had begun to form, was overjoyed.  He did not wish to climb in society any more than was appropriate, he possessed no unseemly ambition, but he feared greatly that in such an untested environment those he loved would be outcast and despised.  He showed little on his face, as was his custom, but he was almost jolly in the carriage home, and hugged Beatrice before she retired for bed.  So not all was lost, she thought, although she had to wonder before she blew out the candle what reception her pleas on behalf of Mr Barrett would receive from the mysterious and beloved Rosamund Lake. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"Take me to the Lakes where all the poets went to die..."<br/>Thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Undertake One of Hercules' Labours</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The days passed and Wednesday arrived swiftly, awaited with anticipation by all members of the Sharp family, though none more than Beatrice.  The Pattersons welcomed them with a warmth that Beatrice privately believed to border on uncouth, but that the rest of the family received gratefully.  Certainly, as long as they were a novelty, it seemed, the Pattersons would remain hospitable towards them.  The Elliots she disliked at once.  Their children were young, so none had come to dine, but Mrs Elliot appeared prone to openly belittle those she considered beneath her and it soon became clear that Mr Elliot considered his opinions more correct than those of anyone around him.  They were, Beatrice reflected, very much like a significant proportion of their acquaintances in London.  </p><p>The Lakes, in great contrast, she almost warmed to.  Mr Lake was a hard man, but Mrs Lake could feign interest in any subject so that she truly appeared interested.  Rosamund was their only child, a distant girl, though not in any cold or uncaring fashion.  She possessed that manner which seems as if the bearer of it holds a soul belonging to some far-off and better land.  Peter, Beatrice noted, was particularly charmed by her.  Unfortunately, his attentions led to the two women being unable to hold a private conversation until after the meal had finished and the ladies had moved to the drawing room.  There, Harriet was swept up by Mrs Patterson into a conversation regarding her musical accomplishments, leaving Beatrice free to settle herself besides Miss Lake.  </p><p>“A pleasant dinner, was it not?” she asked, unsure of how to begin such a task as had been given to her.  A part of her wished to forget the whole affair, but she had made a promise to Mr Barrett and had little intention of abandoning her honour in such a cowardly manner.  </p><p>“Oh, I thought so,” said Rosamund, smiling softly.  “Although,” she added with the tone of a conspirator, “in truth I would much rather have been at home.”  She spoke in such a way that clearly sought further questioning, and Beatrice indulged her.  </p><p>“Indeed?  Why ever would you want that?”</p><p>Rosamund’s face lit up even as her tone became more secretive.  </p><p>“I am writing a <i>novel</i>.”  She smiled with such excitement that Beatrice’s exclamation of delight was quite genuine. </p><p>“How wonderful!  Am I speaking to the next Lord Byron then?” she dropped her tone to match Rosamund’s.  “Shall you turn to debauchery to fuel your genius?  I hear Italy is well-placed for such affairs.”<br/>
Rosamund’s face darkened with distress so quickly that Beatrice was filled with guilt.  She hastened to remedy her mistake. </p><p>“You must forgive me, I did not mean to mock.  I should love to read your work, or at least hear more of it,” she said gazing earnestly at Rosamund who, although not wholly appeased, sat up a little straighter.  </p><p>“It is a romance,” she said with some uncertainty.  Beatrice raised her eyebrows in what she intended to be an expression of interest and Rosamund apparently took it to be so, for she continued.  </p><p>“A Viscount has fallen in love with a baker’s daughter, you see.  But of course, their separate statuses make the marriage forbidden.  There is to be confusion, and separation, and one particular scene in which he discovers her weeping by the riverside, <i>that</i> I have thought out very clearly despite being far from writing it, and in the end, of course, they shall marry happily.  Although,” she leaned forward, “I cannot think of how I would convince my Society to agree with such a match.”  </p><p>Beatrice copied her action.  “Perhaps,” she whispered, “the maiden is in fact the true daughter of a nearby Earl, who gave her up as a baby.”  Rosamund gracefully tilted her head to one side, gently considering the possibility. </p><p>“It would certainly solve the problem,” she said, “but it doesn’t seem particularly realistic.  I wish I could know more of the lower classes through speaking to them, but my father–” she glanced towards Mr Lake and lowered her voice still further, “my father has even forbidden us from meeting with my cousins.  My aunt married badly, you see.”  She spoke hesitantly, glancing at Beatrice throughout.  A harsh ringing began in Beatrice’s ears, and every movement froze into deliberation.  </p><p>“Is that a common approach in these parts?” she asked, a smile sliding across her face.  Rosamund appeared surprised.  </p><p>“Perhaps – a different father perhaps would allow an association with my cousins, but beyond that I believe it is common enough.  Is it so different in London?  Do gentlemen and labourers mingle there?  I have never been, but I have heard that their customs are different –”</p><p>“No, indeed,” said Beatrice, each word stiff upon her tongue.  “<i>I</i> had heard that such rules were less rigid in the country, but I appear to have been mistaken.  I was merely curious, nothing more.”  </p><p>Rosamund gave a true smile, but Beatrice could hardly notice.  In truth she had not expected the country to be more accepting of their position, but perhaps she had hoped for it, a place where her family would be more than tolerated.  The pity and distain of London directed at them for her grandparents’ origins had at times seemed almost unbearable, and now it appeared a similar fate would befall them here.  She must turn the conversation onto other matters, she thought, or else she believed she would be sick.  She laughed and tossed her head as though a thought had suddenly struck her.</p><p>“Indeed but you must tell me, for I just remembered and I have been dying to know.  What is the state of affairs between you and Mr Barrett?  He appears to be very much attached to you.”  </p><p>Rosamund let out a laugh.  </p><p>“I hardly know Mr Barrett, my father has forbidden me from conversing with him.  I know he cares for me but I have no feelings towards him one way or the other.  I cannot know him, and as such, I cannot like or dislike him.  I hope he shall soon change his mind, and turn to court some other young lady, for I should not wish for him to be hurt on my account.”</p><p>“He has no hope for winning your heart then?”</p><p>“Perhaps if we were to come to know each other, but as matters stand certainly there is no hope.”</p><p>“Do you not believe your father is cruel for continuing such a feud?”</p><p>Rosamund shook her head but her eyes were downcast. </p><p>“I am sure he must have his reasons,” she said with a slight catch in her voice.  “In truth, he is— that is, I do believe him to care very much for me, and for this reason he often attempts to hold me perhaps too close.  He cannot know of my writing for I fear he would put a stop to it.”  Sympathy for the girl overtook Beatrice, and she quickly cast about for a topic that would cause grief to neither of them.  She settled on a discussion of a recent novel that had been very popular in London and the rest of the evening passed without incident.  By the end of it Beatrice had begun to warm towards Rosamund, despite her father’s beliefs and Rosamund had already found herself quite taken by Beatrice’s liveliness.</p><p>Scarcely half the next morning had passed when Mr Barrett called on the Sharps, unwilling to wait any longer than appropriate to hear Rosamund’s response to him.  Tragically, he was thwarted by propriety, which demanded that he make conversation with the whole family, and not be alone with Beatrice at once.  He made a gallant effort, complimenting Harriet on her dress, a lovely spring lilac and one of which she happened to be very proud and discussing Coleridge with Peter.  Nevertheless, throughout his eyes strayed constantly to Beatrice, and duty-bound as she was to tell him of all that had occurred, as she suggested as soon as possible that they all go on a walk into the village.  Harriet and Peter soon went on ahead, leaving her and Mr Barrett alone.    </p><p>“Miss Sharp, what news?” he asked breathlessly.  </p><p>“Miss Lake neither cares for nor dislikes you.  To be frank, she does not know you.  She could be willing to know you better, perhaps if her father were to allow it, but I doubt that he shall,” she stated frankly.  Mr Barrett’s countenance became dismayed, and he halted in the middle of the road.  He seemed so ill-inclined to move at all that Beatrice hastened to add “I am sure, however, that should you contrive a meeting some sort of warmth should soon arise, she is a delightful young lady to be sure.” </p><p>At this, Mr Barrett raised his eyes again, with the same expression as he had worn at the ball before first asking her to speak with Rosamund.  She dreaded his next words, sure they would in some way entangle her deeper in this intrigue.  She was hardly mistaken.  </p><p>“A meeting, of course!  We must arrange one.  I had not before dared to hope that she might not hate me but what you have said suggests that there is a possibility of attachment.  Nothing clandestine, of course, I could never tarnish her honour in such a manner.  No, I shall…” He paused, dismayed, before alighting upon an idea and rushing onwards.  “I shall invite her family to stay with mine, and yours as well of course Miss Sharp, and there I shall show the intensity of my love for her with your assistance,” he finished with a triumphant smile, and began to walk again with haste, spurred on by his new hope.  Beatrice sought desperately a method of escape.  She had little interest in continuing further in the matter, especially given Mr Lake’s views on those he deemed below him.  </p><p>“But surely Mr Lake would understand your motive and simply turn down the invitation? He is aware that you are trying to court his daughter,” she asked desperately.  Mr Barrett appeared unsettled by her words, but soon his brow cleared.  </p><p>“True <i>indeed</i> Miss Sharp, you see why I require your assistance in all this matter.  I shall instead convince my mother to persuade Mrs Patterson to invite all three of our families to stay with them, your inclusion would not be unexpected, it is known that you are close with them.  Perhaps also the Elliots, dear friends of Mr Patterson, to dilute the occasion further.  Mr Lake can hardly turn the invitation down when the gathering would involve such esteemed guests, to do so would harm his standing more than any acceptance.  The final matter, then, is merely to decide with what gesture to show my love.”  He held out his arm without looking to give Beatrice balance as she stepped over a puddle, gazing at some unseen vision of Rosamund floating on the air before him.  Beatrice knew with great certainty that such an invitation would equally never be turned down by her family.  She understood also that she could not escape Mr Barrett’s plans if staying at the same house as him, and resolved therefore to attempt to halt his more wild flights of fantasy as soon as possible.  </p><p>“Perhaps no gesture is required.  Be gentlemanly, be kind, she will know your purpose and if her heart is so inclined, she may come to care for you.”  Certainly, she thought, Mr Barrett’s countenance was not unpleasant, and she believed he could be fine conversation were he not so besotted with Rosamund.  It was perfectly possible an equal infatuation would arise on the part of the lady, and they might both believe themselves to be as characters in a play, stumbling upon an eternal true love.  She resisted the temptation to speak these thoughts aloud, for she found she did not wish to see Mr Barrett downcast, and instead focused on keeping her skirt from dragging overmuch in the mud.  </p><p>“But how else shall she truly know that I am sincere?  She may think me cold, undedicated, unsure.  Love requires the grandest of gestures, truthful ones, yet also wide and deep as the ocean to show the depth of my feeling for her!”  he cried, throwing his arm out wildly and almost knocking over a small bush.</p><p>“I do not believe love is only found in the dramatic, sir, I believe that it shall be found perfectly present in all your smaller actions.”</p><p>“You do not even believe in love yourself, Miss Sharp, what reasons have you to dictate how it is shown?”  His words were reproving, but his tone was lively.  Beatrice found herself almost smiling quite by accident.  </p><p>“Indeed, perhaps your deep adoration of Miss Lake has altered my approach entirely.  I fear you will find me spending all my spare time reading sonnets and sighing over lockets,” she replied, glancing up to catch his expression.  He laughed and shook his head. </p><p>“My dear Miss Sharp, I am certain you yourself have had at least one great love directed at you by some innocent young man back in London, arrested by your charm and devotion to your family.  If you could turn down such an offer so heartlessly, nothing I fear can thaw your heart, not even my greatest devotion,” he said, smiling broadly.  Beatrice almost spoke then, admitting how she had never received such an offer, detailing her family’s poor standing in London, but somehow she held her tongue.  Such an instinct was quite unlike her, she thought, surprised at herself.  Instead she pretended to blush and preen.</p><p>“Mr Barrett, indeed you do flatter me, far more than I deserve, I’m sure.  But tell me, if you are so determined on some great action to woo Miss Lake, what might you do?” </p><p>“It would certainty have to be away from the eyes of the party, especially her father’s, though it could not be wholly private, I could never be seen to dishonour her in such a manner.  You would chaperone her to ensure that no ill rumour befalls her,” he cried, and any last hope Beatrice had held that the occasion should be simple for her slipped from her grasp.  “Perhaps a picnic?  The Pattersons have a grove on their estate with a delightful clearing at the centre.”  He appeared to warm to the idea with every word, growing ever more animated.  “I could arrange it, you could bring Miss Lake along under pretence of a walk, and then you could perhaps remain some distance away while we spoke.”  He caught sight of her countenance, pained by the prospect despite all her attempts at civility, and continued with a tone of concern.  “Or of course you could remain near us, if you so wished, I meant no offence—” Beatrice quickly offered a smile.</p><p>“You gave no offence sir, I understand your desire to speak privately with Miss Lake.  I shall play my part in the scheme as you wish.”  </p><p>“Excellent!”  </p><p>Before he could continue, at this moment they heard a shout and, turning towards it, they found Mr Lewis emerging from a side road.  He greeted both of them politely before turning to address solely Beatrice.  </p><p>“Miss Sharp, when I saw you I hoped—that is I mean to say, I was wondering—” he trailed off, searching the surrounding hedgerows for inspiration.  “Is your sister with you today?”</p><p>“Indeed she was, but she has gone ahead with my brother.  You can try to catch them, but truly they may have already reached Oasby,” replied Beatrice.  Mr Lewis sighed, then tipped his hat to both of them and strode purposefully in the direction of the village.</p><p>"With such speed he will certainly dash past Harriet and find himself over the county line,” said Beatrice, gazing after him as they resumed their walking.  “Perhaps it would be for the best.”</p><p>“You do not care for him?”</p><p>“My sister is very young, I worry for her.  I know little of this Mr Lewis, how am I to judge his character?  He seems nervous and restless, would such a man be a good match?”</p><p>“Then allow me to allay some of your fears.  I know Mr Lewis well, he and my cousin were very close for a time.  In the past he has not always been blameless, it is true.  He has been somewhat… troubled.”  Mr Barrett spoke carefully, but must have understood the worry in Beatrice’s visage for he smiled brightly.  “But that is all behind him now, and I do believe his character to be excellent.  Every man has his failings, but Mr Lewis has risen from them admirably.”  </p><p>“I am sure he has, but I still worry for Harriet.”  </p><p>“She is growing into a young lady.  Unfortunately, this means you must allow her to begin to stretch her wings.  My sister was similar when I was young, she worried that I would be swept away by disreputable men to gambling dens and die, penniless.” </p><p>“You have a sister?” Beatrice asked, realising with a start that she knew little of the Barretts.  </p><p>“An older sister, Sophia.  She is engaged to be married to a Sir Thomas Gough, and is I warrant extremely happy.  Certainly she fusses less over me since the engagement began.”</p><p>“Peter is similar, if he could I do believe he would give us all scripts to read for every event we attend,” laughed Beatrice.</p><p>“What of your other brother?  I have not met him yet, but I hear from my mother he is the reason for your arrival here.”</p><p>“James, indeed, he is quite ill.  We are all hoping that the country air shall do him good, he is very dear to me indeed.”  She hesitated, before continuing in a quiet voice.  “He is my closest friend and I do not know what I should do were he to—”   She stopped speaking abruptly, her throat closing around her words.    </p><p>Mr Barrett made a movement as if to place his hand on her shoulder, before realising the impropriety of the action.  His face was solemn as he spoke.  </p><p>“I pray that he recovers soon.  I do not think I could bear to lose Sophia.”  Beatrice searched his eyes and found kindness in them.  For a moment, for the first time since arriving at Lincolnshire, she believed that she might have found a friend.  They continued walking in silence, the birdsong fighting always to remind them both of life and hope.  </p><p>As they rounded a corner they found Harriet and Peter waiting there for them, along with Mr Lewis, and the conversation began again on more general topics.  Mr Lewis hovered around Harriet for the remainder of the outing, momentarily disturbing Beatrice, but she remembered Mr Barrett’s words and attempted to calm herself.  </p><p>Within days invitations to the visit were delivered by the Pattersons.  The house became another flurry of activity, filled most often with James’ complaints that he missed every enjoyable event, and demands that Peter carry him along in his arms so he could be included.  Most members of the household began to avoid his room whenever possible, with even Abigail taking longer routes around the house so as not to pass his door.    </p><p>Beatrice, surprising herself once again, found herself quite looking forward to the visit.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>All titles are from Much Ado or Romeo and Juliet, as you've probably figured out.  This is Act II Scene 1 of Much Ado, where everyone is plotting to get Beatrice and Benedick together.<br/>I am sorry for the exposition dump, I promise we get actual movement in the next couple of chapters!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please feel free to come and talk to me about this: I'm on tumblr at @imissthembutitwasntadisaster!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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